


My Light Is Coming Home

by TheFandomLesbian



Series: Angela's Raulson One-Shots [12]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst, Blind Cordelia, Depression, Elective Mute, F/F, Fluff, Romance, Self-Harm, Smut, not season eight compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomLesbian/pseuds/TheFandomLesbian
Summary: Following Misty's death, Cordelia makes a grim discovery in her room, and she realizes she must do anything in her power to get back the friend she lost. Her bargain with Papa Legba robs her of something precious, complicating her battle for Misty's heart and soul.





	My Light Is Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabexxpaulson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabexxpaulson/gifts).



> For a prompt requesting a one-shot between Misty and Cordelia. This AU had been in my head for awhile, so I was ready to share it.

“ _ All the heroes in the bright burning truth _

_ Makes you feel real, real good in your bones _

_ When the hunger stops, and the truth is known _

_ My life, my light is coming home _ ” --”Coming Home,” Fleetwood Mac

…

“Cordelia?” The new Supreme turned from where she stared blankly at the walls of her own office, plucking pins from the map and replacing them. Myrtle had started the map. Now, in her absence, placing the tacks on the locations where she suspected she would find new witches felt empty. Blinking a few times, she drank in the sight of Zoe in front of her, somehow still not absorbing the young witch completely in the forefront of her mind. “We finished moving the new beds into all of the rooms.” The influx of witches had called for bunk beds in a couple of the rooms. “We just--Misty’s and Nan’s room, we don’t know what to do with their things…” 

The name tugged her out of her reverie.  _ Misty. _ As bitter as it sounded, Nan’s death was a distant memory. But Misty--Misty was fresh. She felt Misty’s body leave her arms every night in her dreams. “I’ll take care of it.” She stepped out of her office and placed a reassuring hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “Thank you, Zoe.” She smiled. She had duties, now, to smile for her coven. She had a duty not to linger on the past. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever lose those shadows--her failures.  _ Misty.  _ Her happiness, like Misty’s ashes, disintegrated through her fingertips, and she fought to capture it and put it all back together. 

When the academy prepared for dinner, she tiptoed into the forgotten room, which hadn’t been occupied since the latter of its inhabitants died. Nan’s things were sparse; Queenie had already sorted through and taken everything she wanted. The few things left behind were easy to stuff into a box. She would send it to the homeless shelter and have the clothing donated. 

No one had interfered with Misty’s personal belongings. The room was just as she had left it when she had headed down the stairs for the last time, prepared to perform descensum. The bed was neatly made, all of her clothing packed away into the ancient trunk of mahogany. It had a layer of dust. Cordelia blew it off.  _ It’s odd, though… _ She trailed her fingertips over the rough wood.  _ This room was super messy before.  _ She remembered how she had stumbled around in the darkness, trying to find Misty’s whereabouts in the cemetery--and, before that, when Queenie returned, all of the things Misty had left laying around. Misty wasn’t a tidy person, but she had packed everything away and sorted out her own belongings. Had she known death was a possibility? Had she known the chance that she would go down the stairs and risk never coming back up them?

Cordelia sat down on the bed with a sigh. The mattress squeaked. She folded herself up onto the bed. “I didn’t know,” she whispered to herself. “I never would have let you go if I had known.” She folded her knees to her chest and leaned back against the wall, relishing in the cold support behind her. “I never would have left you.” The sheets smelled like wildflowers, like Misty. With a flick of her hand, Cordelia closed the bedroom door behind her. She didn’t want anyone to observe her right now. 

The silence rang out. The room wasn’t fit for silence. Every time she had passed it when Misty was here, Fleetwood Mac had thrummed from within its walls, even when Nan was home. Nan appreciated the music. She said it helped her tune out the voices. Cordelia gazed across the room at the eight-track stereo system Misty had set up after arriving. It was a broken set that had occupied the basement of the academy for some time, but Misty had fixed it up for her Fleetwood Mac tapes. Cordelia considered, for a moment, wondering if she ought to put in a tape and listen to the voice of Stevie Nicks to pay homage to her. “No,” she said aloud. The silence reminded her of the new silence in her life, the silence without Misty. She could only move forward by acknowledging it. 

A few tears slid down her cheeks as she listened to the silence. All over again, she felt it--the despair pouring from Misty’s body, the torment she endured, the horror, the helplessness, all things from which she would never awaken. Cordelia  _ felt _ Misty’s aura of utter hopelessness. And then she felt the aura disappear as the body turned to ash in her hands. “Misty, I’m so sorry.” She picked up a pillow off of the bed and held it up to her nose, inhaling deeply the sweet scent, wishing for something more. 

For the first time in her life, someone cared about her. Someone cared about her interests and her strengths. Someone believed in her. And she had thrown it away. “Losing you was my biggest failure.” She didn’t know why she spoke like Misty could hear her. She knew Misty could not hear her. She dreamed of Misty passing on to a better place, a kinder place, but she knew that the souls in hell were trapped forever. It was their damnation. Squeezing the pillow tight against her chest, Cordelia pinched her eyes closed. “I loved you.” 

She had never managed to say those words aloud to Misty. She had never been brave enough. She had thought she had unlimited time, unlimited opportunities. “I thought it was you,” she admitted in a whisper. Who was she, she had thought, to be in love with the Supreme? Surely it was not her place. “I was so wrong.” Her blindness to her own strength, her own power, had taken Misty away from her. Her own failures had robbed her of her only friend. “I would do anything to have you back. To apologize.” Her lower lip trembled. “To take your place.” 

It was what she deserved, wasn’t it? She had let Misty slip between her fingers when she should have known it wasn’t Misty’s place to lie there on the cold floor, dying slowly. She should have known. She should have done something. “Oh, my dearest Misty…” The pillow was a sore replacement for a warm body against her own, but as she burrowed her face into it and sobbed helplessly, she thought it served the purpose well enough. How had she managed to mess things up so badly? 

The pillow muffled all of the sounds she made, and once she had stemmed the flow of tears from her eyes and sponged away her snot with Misty’s pillowcase (she assumed that Misty wouldn't want it back), she put it aside and slipped out of the bed. Misty hadn't left much of a mess for her, but she still had to sort through her things and determine what she wanted to keep and what could be donated.  _ I feel like I'm throwing her away.  _ She knelt down in front of the mahogany trunk into which Misty had packed all of her belongings. With a grunt of effort, she tugged at the rusted latch and popped it loose. It sprang free. The heavy lid lifted and leaned against the base of the mattress. 

At the top, one of Misty's shawls rested. It wasn't her favorite. Her favorite had disintegrated with her cold body. Cordelia wrapped herself in it, anyway, and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply the fragrance of the other woman, faded through the weeks. But a flash of white underneath it caught her eye.

A pressed white envelope rested in the trunk on top of all of Misty's other belongings. In a printed scrawl in black ink, the front of the envelope said, “Miss Cordelia.” The sad look on Cordelia’s face fell away, replaced by a deep, confused frown. She picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands. It was sealed. She checked the front again--it was definitely addressed to her.  _ There must be a mistake.  _ Had Misty left this here intentionally?  _ She must have. She packed everything up. That's why the room isn't messy anymore.  _ Cordelia's eyes misted over with heavy tears that she thought she had exhausted earlier.  _ Did she know?  _ If she hadn't known, she had at least anticipated the risk. She must have known the risk she was taking for the coven. Misty Day, who had died and risen twice, expected that her third death would be the world from which she could not emerge.  _ She knew I was the only one who would sort through her things.  _

The envelope trembled in her fingertips as she held it in front of her. Then, she slipped her fingernails beneath the sealed flap and tore it open. Inside, she found a simple piece of white paper with blue lines. Misty's scribbled handwriting skipped every other line like a child leaving spaces for a teacher to mark out mistakes and leave comments. Her handwriting was small and scratchy but legible. Something about it matched Misty’s personality in an indescribable way, hurried yet thoughtful, the letters strung together but separate at the same time. 

Holding the black ink out into the light, Cordelia squinted. She didn’t have her reading glasses. “Dearest Cordelia,” the letter read, and then it skipped a few lines. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. She feared she would vomit. Swallowing hard, her tongue trailed across her lips. 

“If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I’m sure that’s no big surprise to you by now, but if by some crazy feat it is, there you go. Misty Day is dead. That is to say, dead dead, and not the kind of dead I can come back from. So if you were curious about that, no, I can’t. I’m definitely gone for good.” The tears burbled back up to Cordelia’s eyes, and they fell onto the letter, blurring the ink and smearing it into tracks on the paper. She hastily worked to wipe away her tears before they could dribble onto the letter and tarnish it. “I don’t want you to feel guilty. This was my choice.” 

Cordelia wiped her eyes with Misty’s shawl. “What?” she whispered aloud. 

“You’re the next Supreme. Or you’re about to be the next Supreme. I’ve talked to Papa Legba. This is the way it needs to be.” The words didn’t make any sense to Cordelia. She buried the lower part of her face into the shawl. “You see, Myrtle was right. It was me. And I couldn’t have that.” 

The warm, salty moisture falling into the shawl made her skin itch. She didn’t notice it. “You told us that the duty of the Supreme is to put the coven first, to always do what’s best for the coven, no matter what. And I know the best thing for the coven is for you to be its leader. The Supremacy should never go to someone as corrupt as Fiona again. Papa Legba proposed a bargain for what I wanted. In exchange for my magic and my soul (and my life, seeing as I’m dead), he has promised me that the Supremacy is yours for as long as you want it. Being that I kinda died for this whole shindig, I hope you want it for a very long time.” 

Cordelia folded over on herself. Her spine vanished somewhere inside her back, letting her bow at the middle. Falling forward, she resisted the urge to hide her face completely. She didn’t want to read more. But she needed to. She needed to read it to the end. “Your immortality will protect the coven until you’re ready to give it up to someone else who is qualified. The coven won’t ever be in danger again. The witch hunters are gone. You’re the leader now, for as long as you can handle it.” 

She had never felt less like handling it. She couldn’t do it. Misty had overestimated her abilities. She was bowing under the pressure. She hadn’t earned this; she didn’t deserve it; it wasn’t hers to take. It was Misty’s. “I’m sorry it had to be this way. I know I won’t be the leader the coven needs right now, especially after Fiona. If there were another way, I would have done it. And maybe there was. I’m really not half the witch you are. I can’t lead anyone. I wasn’t made for this. You’re a wonderful leader, a great teacher. I’m sure the coven will adore you. I pray you find all of the love you deserve in your life. And if we meet again, sometime many years from now, I hope you’ll forgive me for the choice I made.” 

_ Forgive her?  _ Cordelia’s lower lip trembled. Misty had made the biggest sacrifice one could make for her coven, and still she asked for forgiveness. “Don’t forget me. The truth is, Cordelia, that I love you. I have never known such kindness and generosity and tenderness as I knew when I was with you, and I appreciate what you gave to me for the limited time that I knew it. I wish I could live all of your lives with you, as your friend--or something more, if you wished it. But my Supremacy is going to be a very short one as I pass it on to you, where it rightfully belongs. You can care for the coven. You can protect the witches. I trust you. I adore you.” 

_ Something more, if you wished it. Oh, I wished it.  _ Cordelia’s snot pooled in the shawl. The letter continued, “As for what happens to me, I’m not really sure, but don’t you worry for me. I’m going to be alright. I may have given my soul and my magic to Papa Legba, but my heart belongs with you, now and forever, cher. All of my love forever, Misty Day.” 

In spite of all of her previous determinations not to damage the letter, it crumpled in Cordelia’s hands as she bawled pathetically into the shawl. She couldn’t muffle the sounds of her cries. The girls were at dinner--they wouldn’t know the difference. They wouldn’t miss her for one meal.  _ This is so wrong. _ How had she let this happen? How had she impressed it so firmly into Misty the importance of the Supreme that Misty believed herself incapable? Misty would have been a wonderful Supreme, better than any of the other girls. The act of this sacrifice proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Misty was prepared to fill the shoes of Fiona and the previous Supremes. “Christ, this is all my fault…” No matter how she hugged herself, she could not relieve the overwhelming pressure inside of herself. Her insides were falling apart. 

“I have to fix this.” She had to gasp around her own uneven words, panting to herself. “I have to--I have to bring her back. I have to try.” It would be just that--trying. She could make no guarantees. But whatever magic Misty had used to make this promise, to allow Papa Legba to keep her soul forever when she entered Descensum, surely Cordelia could use the same type of magic to try to find her and bring her back. 

Scrambling to crawl up onto the bed, Cordelia lay on her back once again.  _ She knew, when she did this, that she wouldn’t come back.  _ Her eyes closed tight. She would never forget the timbre of Misty’s voice as she lay on the hardwood floor, face inches away from Zoe’s, asking, “What do you think it’ll be like?”  _ She knew that it was the end. She knew it was her eternity.  _ And Cordelia had held her in her arms and felt her utter hopelessness and despair before she faded to dust.  _ Did she regret it?  _

She wouldn’t know unless she found Misty. Sprawling out with her limbs extended, Cordelia focused on dissolving the lump in her throat before she began to speak. "Spiritu duce, in me est.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. She remembered the ink on the paper, now discarded somewhere on the floor. Misty had made a sacrifice for the coven, for her, and it was a mistake. “Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum, ut salutaret inferi.” She owed it to Misty to make it up to her. She loved Misty. Misty loved her.  _ Something more, if you wish it. _ She had never wished something so much. “Descensum!”

Hell was darkness. She was blind again.  _ This isn’t what it was before.  _ Licking her lips, Cordelia pawed at the great mass of hair in her arms--Misty’s hair. Misty’s body. Despair poured from her in thick clouds of steam. Cordelia had never known an aura so strong. “She’s stuck--We have to help her--” Her own voice ripped forth. Her hell wasn’t Fiona’s rejection anymore. Her fingers combed desperately through Misty’s hair, pushing the curls back out of her face so she could feel it. “Misty…” The helplessness washed over her from the other witch. “Follow my voice. We are all here waiting for you.” She rocked back and forth, like she could provide some comfort to the fallen witch. Could Misty hear her voice? She doubted it. “Sequere lucem. Venite ad me…” 

Myrtle’s voice was cold, nonplussed. “Her time is up.” 

“No, no, no--” Misty began to crumble. Cordelia collected handfuls of ash until that, too, disintegrated into nothing. 

“She’s stuck. We have to help her.” It cycled back.  _ This isn’t real. This isn’t real.  _ She clutched a whole body again.  _ This isn’t real.  _

A heavy hand touched her shoulder and spun her around. Papa Legba’s red eyes glowed back into hers. “Have you come to make a bargain?” She blinked a few times. Only he stood out to her in the darkness. The vision, her hell, was miles away. “I sense that you may already possess what it is you desire… Your immortality was purchased for you by another.” 

Cordelia drew herself upright. He was taller than her, but she didn’t let her gaze waver from his. “I know.” She expected her voice to shake, but it did not. “I want Misty. I want her back. Her, and her magic, and her soul--and whatever else she gave you. I’ll give anything in return.”  _ Even my soul. Even my life.  _ It was reckless, bargaining with a deity, but she had never desired something like she desired Misty. Misty was here because of her. She owed her the effort of bringing her back. 

A toothy, yellowed smile opened in response. “How precious, my dear…” She set her jaw. “You have only one thing which I seek. The rest, I will allow you to keep.” He opened his thumb and forefinger apart, as if to point to something. 

She couldn’t follow his gesture. “Take it. I said anything.”

He held his fingers open, inches away from her face. “Enjoy eternity,” he whispered, “without your sight.” He thrust his fingers into her eyes, burning them. Her mouth opened into a shriek. The pain--it was the same as the first time, when the acid scalded her skin and her eyes, shaking her to her very core--forced her to wrap her small hands around his hefty forearm, trying to pull him away, trying like a desperate animal to free herself from his trap.

He dropped her. She landed back in the bed with a gasp. Her eyes fluttered open, but nothing met them. No light, no shadows, no darkness, no shapes--nothing. “Misty.” She rolled over and collided with another solid, cold body on the twin-sized bed. “Oh my god, Misty.” Desperate hands fluttered all over the other witch, grappling with her clothes, her hair, her face. “Oh my god, you’re so cold.” She fumbled with the blankets to fold them back and drew Misty underneath them with her. “Misty, say something--please.” 

Her hands covered Misty’s eyes, feeling the eyelashes blink, feeling the breath waft across her palm.  _ Oh, dear god, she’s really alive. _ Her whole jaw trembled. “Cordelia…” Misty whispered. Her hand covered Cordelia’s, tugging it down, away from her eye. 

“Yes--Yes, it’s okay. You’re home. You’re safe.” Misty heaved a sigh. The despondency didn’t leave her. “Your hands are so cold… Let me warm them up.” She brought Misty’s hands between her own and sandwiched them there, working them in warm rhythm, trying to bring life back to her fingertips and her limbs. Misty’s breath hitched unevenly. “It’s okay, Misty. I--I got you back…” She kissed the backs of Misty’s hands. But nothing seemed to elicit a response. 

The tiny bed was cramped. Her legs tangled up with Misty’s. “Are you hungry?” Misty shook her head. “Do you--Would you like to take a shower?” This question got a nod from her. “Okay. Come here, take--take my hands.” Misty touched her face. The touch made a vision shiver to the surface, a scalpel plunging into flesh and blood and organs burbling to the surface.  _ Misty, I’m so sorry. _ She stood shakily, and Misty offered her arm for Cordelia to hold. It was just like before, except that it wasn’t. It was just like before, except for the darkness attached to every breath which left Misty’s body. Hell had taken its toll on her. Her aura was just as despaired as it had been before she crumbled. 

She stumbled around her own bedroom. Her cane was under her bed. She kicked it out from under the bed with her fumbling feet, and Misty picked it up and placed its handle into her hand. “Thank you.” She realized, as she tried to traverse from one side of her room to the other, how messy she had become in the months since she got her sight back. Misty hovered at her side like a shadow clinging to her back. “Here… You can have my robe,” she offered. “You can use whatever you want.” Misty tugged on her, pulling her toward the bathroom door. “You want me to…?” She placed a hand on Misty’s cheek, and Misty nodded into her touch. Misty leaned forward, cradling Cordelia’s face in her palm. 

A soft, warm breath--the softest, warmest breath Cordelia had never expected to feel again--wafted across her lips. Misty kissed her. Cordelia nuzzled into the chaste, tender kiss as it stretched out between them, but it grew no deeper. Misty broke the kiss just as she had initiated it, and she guided Cordelia by the arm into the bathroom. The floor turned into tile beneath her feet. Delicate fingertips plucked under the hem of her sweater. “Go ahead,” Cordelia allowed, lifting her arms. Misty stripped her clothing away piece by piece, her hands slipping beneath every hem and removing the offending layer between them. 

She reached for the wisp of Misty’s shawl and dress, but her palms met only bare skin. Misty had beaten her to it. Her companion vanished, somewhere out of her reach. Hands extended, she wandered forward, seeking to follow the younger witch, though she had no plans of falling into the bathtub. The bath water began to pound out of the faucet and then shrilled into the overhead dispenser. Her hands met the solid wall. Then, a warm caress on her hip guided her to the left. Misty stepped over the ledge first. Cordelia lifted one leg and fumbled as her shin struck the ledge. The shower curtain whipped its cold surface against her nude body.  _ I forgot how much of a hassle this is.  _ She hadn’t needed to guide herself into the shower like this in months. “S-Sorry--” The chill bit into her skin without any protection. 

Misty scooped her up and swept her over the side of the tub under the hot stream of water. Fumbling in the darkness, Cordelia wrapped her arms around Misty’s neck, heart thundering into her throat. “I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat. Misty didn’t let go of her. Her arms guided them into a deep hug from which Cordelia didn’t want to withdraw. She squeezed around Misty’s neck. “I missed you so much…” Misty’s face burrowed into the junction between her neck and her shoulder. “I love you.” 

She said it freely, but her heart skipped a beat as she whispered the words. Was it too fast? What did she know, really? Had things changed since Misty wrote the letter? Her aura had changed. She was darker, sadder, deeper than before. But Misty tapped out her answer on Cordelia’s back--three consecutive taps.  _ I love you.  _ Her eyelashes blinked against Cordelia’s skin.  _ She’s crying.  _ “It’s okay now,” Cordelia whispered. “You’re safe… I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. I swear it. You’ll never be hurt again.” 

Misty didn’t speak. She squeezed Cordelia tighter around the middle. Their bare skins pressed against one another, hair stringing together, bodies cradled together. Cordelia held her until she broke away. Her hands quivered. She smoothed down goosebumps on Misty’s arms. “Let me wash your hair,” she murmured, gathering up the thick, sodden curls in her hands. Pouring shampoo into her hands, she slathered it through Misty’s blonde hair. “I’m right here, Misty… I’m right here.” 

The soap and water cleansed both of their bodies, but the disquiet in Misty’s soul lingered, and her verbal silence stretched out between them like the choppy surface of the ocean water. Her touch was loving, but she said nothing--nothing barring the first word she had said upon reawakening into this world, Cordelia’s name. It seemed she had lost her ability to speak after that first word. 

Wrapping them each in soft plush robes, Cordelia sat beside Misty on the bed. “Are you warm enough?” Misty took one of her hands and placed it on her own face as she nodded. “Okay. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Misty shook her head. “Okay.” 

A sharp rapping at her bedroom door startled Cordelia from her reverie. Misty flinched hard enough to shake the bed. Cordelia patted her hand to soothe her as Zoe called, “Cordelia? I brought up some dinner. Are you in there?” Sliding off of the bed, Cordelia summoned her cane into her hand and tapped her way across the floor. She opened the door. “Hey, I--whoa, what  _ happened? _ Are you okay?”

Cordelia inclined her eyebrows. Of course Zoe could see what had happened to her eyes. “I’m fine.” The pain was gone, and however briefly she had been in agony, Misty was worth it. “I… I need to cancel all of my classes for the upcoming week.” She licked her lips, nervous on how to approach the topic at hand. She couldn’t keep it a secret. “Misty is back. She doesn’t feel well. I need to spend some time with her.”  _ And probably learn how to read Braille.  _ Her throat ached from all of the lumps in it she had swallowed. She had brought Misty back, but she would never  _ see _ her again. “Please, tell everyone.” 

To her credit, Zoe didn’t ask any unwelcome questions. “Of course.” She took Cordelia’s hand and put the plate of dinner in her hands. “Let me know if I can do anything to help.” Cordelia smiled and dismissed her. 

Cutlery was not her strong suit, but Misty steadied the fork in her hand as they split the meal. “Thank you.” It felt silly, having someone guide her around her meal, but she had Misty beside her; she could be indignant at her lost independence tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. “Here.” She twirled pasta noodles around the fork, and once it had grown heavy, she lifted it up. Misty’s teeth clinked on the metal and slid off of it. Cordelia smiled. It was easy to smile for Misty. 

As night fell, and they lay in one another’s arms, Cordelia held through her tears. Misty rested her head on her chest and wept. “Sh…” Smoothing her hair back out of her eyes, she kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, dear, you’re safe now.” Her tears didn’t cease. The hopelessness disintegrated from her tears into the universe around her. “Tell me. Tell me whenever you’re ready. Tell me whenever you can.” Misty hid her face and sobbed in a series of broken, distraught cries, but she formed no words. She cried until she had cried herself to sleep, and Cordelia wrapped them both up with the covers, careful not to disturb her fitful slumber. 

Days passed, however, and Misty’s voice did not return to her. “Here,” Cordelia offered her one day, feeling around Misty’s face until she found her ear and inserted the earbud. “Listen. Alexa, shuffle Fleetwood Mac.” Misty took out the earbud and pushed it aside. “C’mon. Give it a try. Is that not the song you want? There’s this button you can press, right here, that’ll skip songs until you reach one you want to hear.” 

It wasn’t that Misty never left the room. Misty went with her everywhere. She was on Misty’s arm all day, and she slept beside her at night. But the most sound she had heard from Misty was the shrieking she produced when she awoke from her nightmares in the middle of the night. The girls whispered about her, about her empty eyes. The anguish inside of Misty’s soul hadn’t settled. And she hadn’t lifted a hand to practice her own magic. Nothing, not the telekinesis, not the pyrokinesis, not the concilium. Something inside of her had died. “Misty…” Misty took her hand by the wrist and placed it on her own face. Cordelia had memorized the shape of her face by now, its every groove and bump. “I want to help you. Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?” Misty shook her head. “I want you to be happy… You deserve to be happy.” Misty smiled into her palm, but it didn’t feel authentic. “I’m here for you. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Cordelia returned to classes, and Misty--reluctantly--picked up the use of the iPod. Every time she heard the low buzz of the earbuds, or Misty took a bud out of her own ear to put it in Cordelia’s and share the music, some part of her soul gained hope. Misty was in there somewhere. Maybe she was lost, maybe she was stuck, but she was there. She would come out eventually. But, overwhelmingly, Misty remained unresponsive. No matter how Cordelia touched her, kissed her, spoke to her, she never spoke. She rarely acted on her own. When she left to classes, Misty stayed behind in the room or accompanied her, and she was always there at the end of the day when Cordelia came back. The students asked questions--they had every right to. She tried her best to answer them honestly without betraying too much. After all, it was Misty’s story, not hers, and it was not her decision to divulge information about her life. “Misty went somewhere very bad,” she found herself explaining to a student one day, “and very far away. It took me a long time to reach her. But now that she’s back, we need to be patient with her and give her time. She’ll come around on her own terms.” 

Her answer sated the young woman, but it didn’t Zoe, who waited at the back of the room in silence. Cordelia flinched at the sound of her voice. “What did you do? Really?” Zoe asked. 

“I bargained.” Cordelia fumbled to pack away her things. She waved her hand so the magic began to compile and organize them for her. 

“With what?”

“What do you think?” She didn’t intend for her voice to be so sharp, but as it emerged, she set her jaw, hoping Zoe would know to let the sleeping dogs lie. 

“Why?”

Why? Misty had made a sacrifice which cost her her life, a sacrifice she had made to save the coven, and Cordelia could do nothing if not try to amend for it. Misty Day was the second Supreme in history to sacrifice herself for the coven, and she would not go into the books for it. She had made the ultimate choice as a Supreme witch, and no one else knew the difference. But Cordelia knew the truth would only confuse Zoe and the other witches more. “Because I missed her.” It was true. “Because I could. Because she deserved it.”

The silence stretched onward, and for a moment, she wondered if Zoe had left the room without announcing it and left Cordelia staring in the direction of a blank wall, but then she said, “I’m worried about her. She looks… different.” Cordelia waited for Zoe to continue. She couldn’t interrupt; she didn’t know anything about how Misty looked. “Somehow, I can’t explain it. It’s her eyes. It’s like she’s empty. She’s not like she was before.”

_ Like she’s empty.  _ Cordelia knew what Zoe meant. “I know. She’s healing. We need to give her time.”  _ She’ll come back eventually. She has to come back eventually.  _ Cordelia had all the time in the world. Misty had seen to that. “She should be fine, one day. There’s never been someone known to come back after so long. We need to give her time,” Cordelia repeated, like saying it would give her more patience. She wanted more patience--needed more patience--for Misty’s recovery. Somehow, though she slept side by side with Misty every night, part of her still missed her. She missed the way Misty’s voice sounded when she laughed, or the low tone she used when she deadpanned, or the slight curl to her words when she cursed or spoke in anger. She regretted the loss of Misty’s bright yellow aura whenever their bodies touched. Now, Misty’s aura was dark gray. Not black--not evil. Somber. Sorrowful. Sedated. Shrouded in a fog. She missed the visions she had once seen when holding Misty’s hand--the sunlight, the swamp, the trees. Misty had bad memories before, of course, and Cordelia had seen those, but she had also seen the good things. Now, each vision she had of Misty was the same--the scalpel in her hand plunging into the soft flesh, opening the fat and muscle of the living frog as it squirmed, sobbing as blood filled the dissection plate and the visible heart gradually ceased its beating. It was like it was all Misty thought about, or all she remembered. Hell had dominated Misty’s mind, and Cordelia was struggling to get it back.

Leaving the class one day, she tapped her way up the hall. Identifying the sound of Queenie’s footsteps, she asked, “Have you seen Misty?”

“She’s in the parlor with Stevie.” Cordelia brightened. She didn’t know why, but some part of her hadn’t expected Stevie to come to her request. She was the Supreme now--of course Stevie would come. “I wouldn’t look so happy,” Queenie mumbled. “It didn’t look like she was having a lot of luck, actually.”

If anyone could help, Stevie could. “Thank you, Queenie.” Cordelia headed into the parlor, following the sound of the piano strumming the notes of songs she heard all too often. She paused in the doorway, afraid of colliding with Misty if she happened to catch her partner mid-spin. However, she didn’t need to worry. A familiar, chapped hand closed around her forearm. She smiled. “Hi.” She kept her voice low, careful not to disturb the notes of the song. Misty placed her hand on her face, right over her grinning mouth. The grin caused tears to rise to Cordelia’s eyes. “Show me?” she requested in a tender voice. 

For the first time in her new life, Misty reached out and touched Cordelia’s face, and she projected a vision to her, a memory, not her hell but something else, something from before. And Cordelia watched through Misty’s eyes as she spun and twirled along with the piano, the first time she had met Stevie. Misty showed her. Misty dragged her into a hug, and Cordelia fumbled to reciprocate the warm gesture. Misty’s body quaked, but she hadn’t shed a tear. She was laughing in a strange, silent joy. She only pulled away to hug Stevie again when the piano stopped.  _ It’s still her. She’s still here. _ But still, she didn't speak, and after Misty left the room, Stevie whispered, “Poor girl. I'm sorry, Cordelia. I did try.”

“No--No,  _ thank you. _ She's getting better. She--She's laughing again. That was the first time she has laughed…” Cordelia trailed off. “She hasn't spoken a word.” The only thing Misty had said aloud upon emerging from hell was Cordelia's name. She spoke it once, and then she fell into her perpetual silence once again. “She was smiling. You gave her more than any of us have.”

“I tried to get her to talk to me, but she wasn't having it.” Stevie touched Cordelia's hand. “My dear, I'm worried about her.”  _ Everyone is worried about her.  _ Cordelia licked her lips. “Her arms. Have you felt them?” Cordelia shook her head. Misty had begun to shower before she finished her day of work--after all, spells to accommodate her disability were complex, and the alternative of bothering one of the other witches to help her was just as long. She hadn't felt much of Misty's body, except on the occasions when Misty invited her to it. “She has cuts.” Stevie took her long fingernails and trailed horizontal lines across Cordelia's wrists to simulate what she had seen. “All the way up her arms. I know you've both been through a lot, but please… take care of her.” Hugging Stevie brought a haze of memories over Cordelia, but she ignored them, mind preoccupied with Misty. “I'll be back next week.” 

“Thank you.” The words felt numb and dumb as she said them. “Thank you.” The door closed behind Stevie, leaving Cordelia standing in the parlor. 

She grabbed a couple bags of snacks (and, by mistake, a loaf of bread, though she didn't realize until she was halfway up the stairs and had no intention of going back downward) and headed upstairs to their bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She wouldn't want any dinner. “Misty?” she called as she tapped into the room, putting the snacks in one of the chairs. “Hey, Misty…” A hand covered hers and wrapped up in it. “Hey.” Cordelia didn't know how to start the conversation. She didn't want to break Misty's trust in Stevie--Stevie was the only person who had any strength to pull her out of her hole. “Let's take a shower?” she suggested, lifting her hand to place it on Misty's cheek. 

Misty shook her head. Cordelia pursed her lips. “Please?” Her quiet words had no sway over Misty, who refused again. “Okay.” Misty couldn’t make it easy for her. Cordelia sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging Misty along with her by the hand. “Sit here. We need to talk.” The smile on Misty’s face abated under her hand. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” Misty nodded. She felt the way Misty’s face moved in her hand. She knew Misty’s face better than any other by now. “Have you been hurting yourself?” 

The hand twined in hers jerked away like she’d been burned. She shook her head, retreating away from Cordelia, leaving her touch. “Misty…” Cordelia resisted the urge to chase her. She would only make a fool of herself that way--and she would frighten Misty. She didn’t want to do either of those things. “Tell me the truth. Please.” She held out one open palm to Misty. Sitting there, dumb as a sitting duck, she waited, hoping Misty would give her something. Her fingers shivered in the air. She licked her lips. “Please,” she repeated, hoping it would sway Misty’s attitude. 

Cool skin landed in her hand. At first, she went to twine her fingers with Misty’s, but instead, she wrapped her digits around Misty’s forearm. Mouth trembling, her fingertips trailed over the thin, horizontal cuts. They were shallow; they barely broke the skin.  _ Don’t be angry.  _ She wasn’t angry, of course, but she was afraid. She couldn’t scare Misty now, not when Misty had trusted her with something so delicate. “Thank you.” Misty hugged her. Cordelia nestled her arms around her waist in return and kissed her neck. “It’s going to be okay…” She spoke the words, a promise that she wasn’t sure she could keep, and she hated herself for it. How could she reassure Misty of anything when they could barely communicate at all? Misty wept against her skin. Cordelia combed a hand through her messy curls, imagining the spun gold weaving through her fingers. “I don’t want you to do this anymore. Okay?” Misty nodded. “Will you show me what you used?” 

Misty squeezed her tighter. Hiding her face, she shivered, and then a vision shimmered before Cordelia, something given voluntarily--only Misty had ever practiced the ability to voluntarily show her something. A safety razor with a blue handle rested on the side of the bathtub next to the can of shaving cream Cordelia used to shave her body every other night. In the memory, Misty picked up the razor. She broke the guards off it and replaced it with an identical model--green instead of blue, but Cordelia didn’t know the difference anymore. And then she took it by the handle and dragged it sideways across the pale skin of her wrists until tiny droplets of blood burbled to the surface. The thinness of the blades didn’t allow her to plunge too deep. That wasn’t her goal. She just wanted to feel  _ something _ . The desperate numbness poured from Misty’s mind into Cordelia’s. 

“Oh, Misty… There are so many things you can feel.” Cordelia pressed a soft kiss to the junction of her neck and shoulder. “So many things. I promise. Just give yourself a chance.” 

The room grew cooler as the night pressed on and the sunlight vanished from the windows. Misty cried until she stopped, and Cordelia wrapped them up in blankets so she wouldn’t feel as cold, and she didn’t try to keep track of the time while she was cradling Misty in her arms. “I love you,” she breathed to her. Misty lifted her head from her chest and kissed her on the mouth. “I love you,” Cordelia repeated, mumbling right into her mouth. “I love you.” Maybe if she said it enough, Misty would believe it. If she said it enough, Misty would feel it in her bones, and she would never fear numbness again. 

The kiss was hard and passionate between the two of them, their lips grinding against one another’s, forming firm shapes like cookie cutters molding each other. Misty’s hands slithered underneath her sweater and drew it up over her head, unbuckling her skirt, freeing her from the bounds of her clothing. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Misty was moving too fast. She couldn’t follow her movements with her hands. Only the heavy breathing of her lover betrayed her. Misty kissed her, softer this time, an affirmative. “Okay,” Cordelia agreed in a shaky voice. She could do it, couldn’t she? It was no different than before, except she couldn’t see, and what did she expect to do by seeing? There was nothing she could see on Misty’s body that she could not feel. 

Stripping Misty of her clothing, tossing the shawl and dress aside--Cordelia fumbled to discard her bra only to find bare breasts, and she wondered why she was surprised, or furthermore, how she hadn’t noticed until  _ right now _ that Misty didn’t wear a bra--she pressed her hands to Misty’s chest and felt Misty press back on hers. It was a battle, a battle for dominance, a battle for whose passion was greater. Cordelia touched her face with clumsy pawing movements. Misty’s visions were nothing but the present, nothing but gazing down upon her, her own nearly nude body on the mattress. “Go ahead.” 

Cordelia forfeited the battle. She was here for Misty, whatever Misty needed, because Misty had given her everything, and she could only hope to one day pay it back. Misty stripped her of her bra and eased her back onto the pillows. There was nothing rough about it, the kisses they exchanged. Their bodies and skins were soft except for the calloused places, and Misty cherished every inch of her bare skin, peppering kisses down her breasts. Cordelia stifled her own moans and groans for fear of disturbing the rest of the house. She laughed, face warming with embarrassment, when Misty tickled her abdomen. “God, I love you.” Misty laughed, too, a real sound, and Cordelia wanted to cry, but then fingertips hooked into the hem of her panties, and she forgot everything but the feeling of the cloth dragging down over her bare legs. 

An open mouth suckled on the fat of her stomach and followed the trail of hair from her bellybutton down to the line where her tummy met her pubic mound. The clumsily shaven area had bristles and tufts where Cordelia had tried her best to shave without taking off her whole labia, too. “Oh, god…” Misty barred nothing when she buried her face there into her vulva, spreading out her legs wide with her hands. Stars danced behind Cordelia’s eyes. She couldn’t see--but with Misty down  _ there _ , her face doing exactly what it was doing, she saw fireworks of more colors than she ever could have imagined. 

Misty licked up one side and down the other. She used one hand to pin her legs open, and the other hand fumbled upward, upward, across her sweat-sheened torso to her chest and teased her breasts, one to the other. It was clumsy, but Cordelia, inundated by the numerous sensations, caved to them and noticed not the messiness of the situation. The tip of Misty’s tongue flicked across her clitoris, light as a feather and just as easy, yet somehow coming down hard, too. “Mmm…” She threw her head back and wriggled her hips in Misty’s grasp. Misty held on tighter, a cowboy riding a bucking horse, and suckled on her most sensitive place until she gave a muffled cry. All of the muscles in her lower body tightened from the flat of her back to her thigh muscles to her calves. Her vagina flickered with its twisted squeezing motions. Ecstasy washed over her. Her nipples pebbled and hardened. She relaxed back into the pillows. 

Gasping for breath, Misty lay down beside her, and Cordelia fumbled for her body in the perpetual darkness. Misty took her hands and helped her place them on points of reference, her hips, her shoulders, her collarbones, her breasts. Cordelia followed each of Misty’s shoulders out to the arms and back in, grazing through the thick tufts of wiry hair under each arm and tracing the skin down her sides. She pressed her lips to Misty’s small breasts and tickled them with kisses. Misty’s hands tangled into her hair and drove her face into her chest. She wrapped her mouth around one soft globe of fat and sucked gently, careful not to work too hard at it, and Misty’s quiet gasps and grunts and moans put life back into Cordelia’s body--it was the closest to speech she had given since her return, and it expressed so much pleasure and happiness that Cordelia’s heart threatened to burst. 

She dragged her teeth down Misty’s squishy stomach and nuzzled against all of the bumps she found in her skin, the scars from a rough life lived. Once she found Misty’s navel by sticking her nose in it--they both laughed, and she mumbled an apology, and Misty petted her hair, and she knew she was forgiven--she dipped lower, lower still, and she slithered between her legs and held her legs apart just as Misty had done to her. Fuzzy thighs framed her face. Her face buried into a full garden of thick pubic hair. It scratched on her face like a guiding light toward salvation, if salvation were Misty’s vulva. It smelled like salvation, heavenly, so she began to salivate before she ever parted Misty’s labia and revealed the luxurious pink folds inside of her. 

Dipping her tongue into Misty was like opening her mouth into a wave of ocean water and letting the tide of the world become one with her body, if only for a blessed moment. She latched her arms around Misty’s legs and licked up from the vestibule of her vagina where all of her wetness had collected and dribbled downward. Cordelia found the bulb of her clitoris and teased it with the tip of her tongue, following down each crus before she found her way back up to the pearl nestled in flesh. Misty’s muted cries matched the bucking of her hips in an unknown, unpredictable rhythm. Cordelia whimpered into her soft skin and nibbled here and there, doing whatever elicited a reaction from Misty. Misty pulled her hair. The pressure on her scalp stung, but she knew it was an encouragement. 

With her index finger, Cordelia traced the outside of her vagina, stimulating the sensitive area around her urethra. All of the muscles in Misty’s lower body clenched.  _ She’s close.  _ Cordelia wrapped her mouth around her clitoris and kept teasing it with the tip of her tongue, stimulating it, drawing it up until Misty’s whole back arched. Her clitoris swelled and twitched with each contraction of her vaginal walls. Panting, Misty grabbed Cordelia under one shoulder and pulled on her.

Cordelia lay on the pillows beside Misty. Misty kissed her. “Feel better?” Cordelia whispered, hopeful, not willing to bank too much on it. Misty nodded against her. “Okay.” Their legs tangled up together, drifting off to sleep with Misty’s hairy legs brushing up against her own smooth ones.  

However, they weren’t smooth for much longer. The next day, Cordelia threw away every razor in her bathroom, and she took them out to the garbage for good measure. She massaged a paste into Misty’s cut wrists every night to prevent scarring--she couldn’t see them, but she didn’t want Misty to be trapped with the reminder--until the scabs had healed into nothing, and each time they joined themselves into a union once more, Cordelia’s body hair had grown a little thicker. At first, she was ashamed, but Misty paid no heed to it, worshiping her fuzzy legs and coarse vulva with the same passion as before. 

She trusted Misty, but she also worried. She worried so much. She found herself tracing Misty’s wrists absently whenever her hands were idle, checking the skin there for any abnormalities. Once she found a rash, but the cuts didn’t make a return. And Misty changed, little by little. She started going around the academy more. She made her presence with the other girls, and Cordelia heard them pour things over Misty which they never would have confided in anyone else. After all, Misty wouldn’t speak. She wouldn’t tell their secrets. 

One afternoon, Zoe rapped on the bedroom door while Cordelia sat in bed, trailing her fingers over the pages of the book in front of her. She was testing the efficacy of her new trial of her English-to-Braille spell. It was difficult, mostly because she wasn’t that great at reading Braille yet--so many of the letters were so close together, the F’s and the J’s and the H’s and the D’s, and she struggled to remember which ones were which. She had a print out of the alphabet next to her in order, so that was helpful, but piecing together each word made her head hurt. 

Misty hopped up from the bed beside her and opened the door. “Hey,” Zoe greeted. “You wanna come down? We’re working on dinner. Kyle just cut his finger, so, uh we could use some extra hands.” Of course, Misty didn’t answer aloud, but she did give an answer. Zoe said, “Cordelia, we’re going downstairs, okay?” 

“Got it.” Cordelia was struggling through a sentence. The spell had, apparently, been effective on her novel--she hadn’t found any blatant errors yet--but she was still hesitant to charm her spellbooks. They were so old and precious to the coven. Would she risk damaging them just so she could read them? “Have fun, guys.” The door closed after them. 

Cordelia summoned one of the heavy spellbooks from across the room. She held out her hand, but it missed and smacked her in the face. “Fuck.” She framed her fingers over the bridge of her nose, trying to rub the ache out of her eyes. She supposed it was a phantom pain, the type of throbbing she got behind her eyes from long spells of working too hard, but it was annoying, nonetheless. With a sigh, she pushed the books aside and rose from the bed, summoning a nightgown and a towel--both of these landed in her hands instead of on her face--and heading into the bathroom. 

They had taken a bubble bath the night before, but tonight, she just wanted a shower. She stripped off her dirty clothes and left them in a pile where she would be able to find them with ease. When the steam filled the room, she knew the water was hot enough, and she stepped beneath the stream. Her foot struck the bottom of the tub and slipped. “Whoa.” Catching herself on the bar on the side of the tub, she held herself steady. “We’ve got to get a bath mat.” She grabbed the bottle of shampoo and lathered up her hair, soaking up the luxurious warmth of the water as it flowed over her. The pressure of her headache eased with the steam. 

The bubble bath from the night before had left a residue on the floor of the shower, and Cordelia found herself grappling for a hold more often than usual, but she tried to brush it off. She picked up the pump bottle of hair conditioner and squirted it once. It missed the palm of her hand. “I’ve got to get better at this eventually,” she grumbled, trying a second time and wringing the conditioner through her hair once she’d successfully gotten it into her hands. 

_ Where did the body wash go?  _ Cordelia felt along the shelves. Misty usually didn’t move things--she was cognizant of the limitations of blindness, even if no one else was--but she had no luck.  _ It’s on the outside ledge. We took a bath last night.  _ Cordelia leaned over the ledge, but the shower curtain got in the way. “Of course.” Stepping back toward the end of the bathtub, Cordelia tugged the shower curtain open. As she bent down over the ledge, feeling down it with an open hand, she shifted her stance. Her foot landed in the puddle of conditioner she had dropped and already forgotten. 

All of her weight braced on the one foot scooped out from under her. Cordelia tumbled downard, leaning over the ledge of the tub. Her weight crashed down on her right arm. It buckled under her weight, breaking with the ease of another joint. She rolled with the momentum of her fall, landing hard on her ribs. The impact knocked the air out of her. As she fell, her face tangled up in the shower curtain. She landed in the floor of the shower with the hot water beating down on her body and the curtain strangling her. Gasping short breaths for air, she twisted herself free from plastic shower curtain. Each movement jostled her arm and sent agony shooting through it. With her free arm, she snatched the curtain away from her face, only for the jet of water to squirt right into her eyes. 

She felt like she battled a thousand monsters that she couldn’t see, and they just kept assaulting her instead of standing back and giving her a break. With her magic, she turned off the shower. It took a few moments for the shock and the chill to set in. She lay on the floor of a cold bathtub, soaking wet, with the crumpled shower curtain around her; there was so much of it, she was certain she had torn it off of the shower rod. 

Quivering all over, Cordelia tried to sort through her head.  _ I fell in the shower. I broke my arm.  _ Her chest ached with each breath.  _ Maybe my ribs. Okay, I fell in the shower, and I hurt myself. I need to get up out of the shower now.  _ It was easy to think it, but she struggled as she reached for the handle to pull herself up. She caught it in her fingertips, but her broken arm slid off of her body and landed on the floor. “Bah!” The shooting sensation, like nails driving into her bones, stopped her attempt to reach the handle. She fell back, cursing under her breath as she allowed her body to collapse on the floor a second time.  _ I need help. I can’t do it alone.  _ “Help!” Her voice was feeble as it emerged. “Help!” She doubted it traveled far out of the room, let alone all the way downstairs to where the girls were cooking dinner. “Help! Misty!” 

She called a few more times, but no one came; no one could hear her. Falling silent, she lay there, cold as goosebumps erupted all over her arms and legs. What could she do to get someone’s attention? What could she do to make some noise? She crossed her legs, grimacing with discomfort at the way her body rested on the unforgiving floor. Her shoulder bones and hip bones dug into the tile, and it dug back at her.  _ I can use magic.  _ But she could think of nothing she could do to make enough noise, even with her magic, without making a mess which she wouldn’t be able to clean up. 

Despair flooded her. How had she become this way? A blind Supreme, doomed to life without her sight? Eternal life, no less--eternal life, because that was what Misty had bargained for, and she had brought Misty back, where she suffered even more.  _ None of this should have happened.  _ Her eyes burned with distraught tears. Misty was meant to be the Supreme, not her. She was never meant to possess this magic. She couldn’t even effectively use it now, not since she had bartered with her sight to win back the woman who ultimately belonged at the head of the coven. 

How long she lay there in silence, in dread, in agony, she wasn’t sure, but the distinct sound of the bedroom door closing drew her out of her self-pitying reverie. “Misty!” she called. “Misty! Help!” She tried to kick out her legs, but they were knotted up in the shower curtain. She was nude and helpless. 

Misty’s footsteps raced into the bathroom. Cordelia extended her good hand. “Misty, I’m hurt,” she said weakly. A soft towel covered her naked body. Gentle hands plucked the shower curtain out from under her. Water rolled out of the puddled places. Misty discarded the plastic sheet and bowed over her. “My arm--Ah--” Misty protected the broken limb the best she could, but she couldn’t keep from moving it entirely. “I’m so sorry,” Cordelia whispered in a broken, thin voice. Misty put her arms around her waist and struggled to lift her. Cordelia slung her other arm around Misty’s neck. 

Dragging her out of the bathtub, Misty hobbled out of the bathroom, still holding Cordelia like an oversized child, before she put her down on her own two feet and nudged her in the direction of the bed, helping her onto the mattress. She folded the towel tighter around Cordelia’s middle, protecting her exposed body. Cordelia leaned her head over onto Misty’s shoulder, resting for a few minutes. Misty supported her, an arm around her waist, a head resting against hers. But her arm hurt. She gulped.  _ I need to fix this.  _ She held open her hand and summoned a book. It whistled through the air. She flinched at the sound, but Misty caught it in the air before it could collide with her face. “Thuh-Thanks.” Misty put the book in her lap. 

With a wave of her hand, the book opened to a page--she could not see it, but she knew it was the page she needed. “Here, this--this spell, will you?” Misty already began to shake her head. “Misty, please,” Cordelia begged, eyes burning with tears. “I’m not strong enough… Please, just do it, I can’t read it!” Misty’s arm tightened around her waist, but she shook her head more firmly against Cordelia’s. Cordelia closed her eyes tight as stressful pain flared behind them. She sucked in her lower lip.  _ I can’t let anyone else see me like this… _ She couldn’t be vulnerable like this in front of the other witches. She couldn’t let anyone know she was like this. She was weak. Misty was the only one who knew. “Please,” she begged again, a final word. 

Misty remained silent. Fear trembled off of her warm body, apprehension, worry, all because she doubted her own ability to perform magic.  _ I know you can do it, _ Cordelia wanted to plead. Misty began to withdraw from around her. “No!” Cordelia caught her around the waist and dragged her back. “No, no, nobody else can know…” She cleared her throat and held her hand out to Misty. “Fine.” She took a deep breath through her nose. “Write the words on my hand. And let me know if I get them wrong.” 

A strong index finger landed on her palm without any hesitation. Misty drew the shapes of the letters onto her palm one by one. Cordelia read them out loud. “S. A. N. A.” Misty tapped the palm of her hand twice. “Sana,” she repeated the word, and then Misty drew more letters. “Q. U. O. D.” They progressed through the spell, two sentences, eight words. Cordelia had to repeat them several times with Misty’s corrections on the palm of her hand. Trying to discern handwriting when she couldn’t even see it was a new challenge, but she kept taking deep, patient breaths and trying to ignore the throbbing in her arm. It didn’t hurt as badly if she held it still.

“Sana quod est saucium,” she chanted. The magic churned within her, in the pit of her stomach, rising up through her chest.  _ Stronger intent. _ She had told Misty those words once; it seemed like years ago, now, that she had tried to coach Misty in her magic. She hadn’t known it, then, but she had coached a future Supreme into her role.  _ I failed.  _ The dark thought made her spell fall short, and she hissed in frustration before she even spoke the second line.

A soft hand closed around her forearm, trying to reassure her. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to focus when your arm is broken.” She blinked back tears stinging in her eyes. Misty kissed her cheek, pecking away the single falling tear. Cordelia rolled her good hand over to fold Misty’s fingers between her own, and she squeezed her hand. “Sana quod est saucium. Salvum facere quod perierat.” 

Strength and power ebbed through her muscles and rushed toward the harmed site of her arm. The bones popped audibly as they realigned themselves. She grimaced and buried her face into the crook of Misty’s neck, resisting the urge to bite down in response to the pain. The splintering bone fragments cracked back together and mended in a few beats of her heart. She keened a thin sound until the last pangs had left her limb, and then she relinquished her harsh grip on Misty’s hand. “I’m sorry.” She released her lip from between her teeth. “Thank you for helping me.”

She couldn’t expect or demand anything more from Misty. Misty wasn’t ready to perform magic yet. Cordelia reached into the open air, fingertips curling as they sought the smooth texture of Misty’s skin, the curled ringlets of her hair. Misty caught her arm by the wrist and placed it on her cheek, wet with tears. “Don’t cry…” Cordelia wiped away her tears with the palm of her hand. “Don’t cry, Misty, don’t cry. Oh, dearest…” She hugged Misty with her hands pawing at her, guiding her into the embrace. “Why are you upset?” 

The emotions rolled off of Misty like waves from the ocean striking the shoreline. Fear, sorrow, relief, disappointment, self-hatred. Cordelia couldn’t count them. Misty’s touch presented visions to her which she doubted Misty wanted her to see. Through Misty’s eyes, she saw herself lying there in the bathtub, naked and vulnerable with her arm all twisted, her skin raised into goosebumps and muscle tremors wracking her frame to try to keep her warm. Misty’s thoughts raced through her head, her every emotion and inclination blazen there for Cordelia to sift through. She wanted to speak. She  _ needed _ to speak. But each time she tried, her voice caught in her throat. “Oh, my turtledove…” Cordelia whispered. 

In the recent memory, Misty lifted her from the bathtub and carried her to the bed, but she couldn’t summon up her magic. It refused to rise to the surface. She strained for it, reached for it like she had once done to draw souls back out from the great beyond. It evaded her. The great mystery of her magic: She could feel it thrumming in her veins with every pulse of her heart, but nothing could bring it up to aid her in a time of need. And what use was a medication stuck in a bottle if she couldn’t administer it to the person in need? What use was she if she couldn’t help Cordelia when she was hurt? Was she doomed to be a useless lump, occupying space and nothing else, cluttering up Cordelia’s life?

Cordelia framed Misty’s face between her hands. “No, no, no, sweetheart… You helped me. You know you helped me.” A lifetime ago, Cordelia had married a man with no magic, and while she regretted that decision with every fiber of her being, she was the same person. She loved Misty, regardless of her magical ability. “You’re worth more than what you can do with your powers. You’re worth more than that to me, and to the coven. I promise you.” She kissed the tip of Misty’s nose; she’d aimed for her mouth, but missing was a common occurrence. Her blunders were hardly noticeable anymore. “And you are still a very powerful witch.” She had asked to have Misty returned to her whole, complete with her magic. “You’re healing. You have every right to heal on your own terms.” 

Misty kissed her, and she didn’t miss. They slept like spoons nestled together in the silverware drawer, Cordelia cradled in Misty’s arms with the younger woman wrapped around her as if to guard her. Cordelia didn’t know which she preferred--lying in Misty’s embrace, or providing the embrace for Misty. 

In August, before school came back into session, Cordelia had a meeting with the superintendent of the local high school. She left Misty with Zoe to cook lunch for the few students who had chosen to stay over the holiday. “Dr. Vanderbilt,” she greeted the man after Kyle let him into the building. “Pleasure to meet you.” She extended a hand to him. 

He took it. He was frightened--his aura was yellow with fear--and his strong grip was offset by his ignorance on how to square up against a woman smaller than him. “Ms. Goode. Likewise.” He didn’t hold onto her hand for very long. She had successfully unsettled him. “So I believe we’re here to discuss the presence of your students on Elm Grove High campus.”

“That’s right. If you’ll follow me.” She led him back to her office, tapping her cane on the ground as she walked. He obediently followed her into her office. “Have a seat.” He did. With a wave of her hand, all of her papers collected themselves into an organized pile. Misty and Zoe had teamed up to make sure she had everything typed out correctly, and the new read-aloud software on her computer was really helpful. 

Dr. Vanderbilt cleared his throat. “I have some concerns about your proposition of allowing your students onto my campus with my students. Parents are concerned with the well-being of their children.” 

“And I’m concerned with the well-being of my girls. I have a masters degree in botany and a bachelors in education, but I’m in no position to teach high-level math. As we get more witches, we don’t have enough teachers to accommodate them.” Somehow, drawing out adult witches into the fray to teach younger witches was harder than she anticipated. “I want my students to have as many opportunities as their peers.” 

“Is it safe?” 

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. “Do you mean to suggest that my students may harm yours?” 

He coughed. He knew he had stepped out of line. He was afraid of her. Cordelia had never felt so powerful. “Well… I mean, I just--clearly, you all have some extraordinary…  _ talents _ to share, but I fear that Elm Grove is not the ideal place for those talents.” Part of her wanted to shut him up and force him to agree, but she silenced the tiny voice inside of her which encouraged her to become a bully. 

“Dr. Vanderbilt, I believe you have some misconceptions about the nature of witchcraft and magic. Witches have lived among you since the dawn of time. The fact that you know about it now does not make us more dangerous. It allows for transparency. Before, if a witch harmed someone, deliberately or unintentionally, there was no accountability. Now we are visible, and I can assure you I will take disciplinary action  _ if _ it’s necessary.” Cordelia set her jaw. “And I expect the same from your administration. There are girls here who already have been victims of harassment and worse.”  _ Much, much worse.  _ Misty had lost her first life to a deep-rooted hatred of all things magical. Now she was on her third. “I don’t want them to face any obstacles for their future.” 

The man coughed again. She had stumped him. He didn’t know how to reassure her. “That’s another problem. Many of our students and their families have deeply held religious beliefs…” 

“I’m not interested in hearing about anyone’s religious beliefs,” Cordelia said off-hand. “There is a division between church and state. My students belong in public school as much as anyone else.” 

“Yes, but if your students are practicing magic all willy-nilly in the hallways, I believe we’ll both have fire under our asses from offended parents.” 

Cordelia resisted the urge to scoff. “My students are going to attend classes specifically to help them pass their GEEs so they may go to college and do what they like with their futures. They’re not going to show off parlor magician tricks to anyone who listens.” 

“You seem to have no problem doing it.” 

“This is my house. I’m hardly about to stroll into your school and rip it off of its foundations to impress anyone. Nor are any of my students.”

“Why did you go public, if not to impress everyone?” 

She had gone too long without having to deal with a man. She pinched the bridge of her nose and resisted the urge to smack him.  _ I would miss, anyway.  _ Magic helped with a lot of things, but her aim still wasn’t the best. “I went public in order to provide hope, answers, and visibility for the young women in the world who didn’t know what they were or what was happening to them. I’m not here to impress anyone. If you think we perform magic for your benefit as an onlooker rather than our own convenience, you’re sorely mistaken.” 

He stomped his heavy boots on the floor. “You’ve demonstrated several tricks since I’ve come into this room!” 

Cordelia snorted derisively. She couldn’t restrain it. “They’re called  _ spells _ , not tricks, and I haven’t done anything with my magic that wouldn’t have taken me twice as long manually. It wasn’t for your benefit.”

He was flustered. “But--you opened the window!”

“It’s August. We live in Louisiana. Would you rather bake in this small room without the breeze?”

“And the papers!” 

Her patience was beginning to run thin. “I’m  _ blind _ , in case you didn’t have the graces to notice. If I shuffled the papers with my hands, I would make more of a mess for someone else to clean up.” Cordelia summoned a piece of paper from the stack. It flew directly into her hand so she could push it in front of him. “This is the contract I have drafted regarding the placement of my students within some of your academic programs.” 

“I suppose you drafted this with some kind of sorcery, too.” 

Refusing to let frustration get the best of her, Cordelia pressed onward. “Yes, my Braille keyboard is truly magical. So is the read-aloud software on my computer. Modern technology belongs in all of my spellbooks.” He fell into a reluctant silence, and she gave him a few minutes to skim the contract. 

“None of this is disagreeable to me,” he begrudgingly allowed. “Do you have a pen?” 

“Absolutely.” A pen rolled across the desk toward him. “I had hoped you would think as much.”

“No funny business.”

“No, no funny business.”

He signed the contract, and Cordelia ushered him out of the office and back into the parlor, where he bid her a tight, impolite farewell. No sooner than the door closed behind her did footsteps race toward her. “Cordelia?” She turned to face Zoe and Queenie. “We lost Misty.” 

She blinked. “What do you mean, you lost her?” 

Queenie shuffled. “She disappeared. She’s gone.”

“Did you check the bedroom?”

“Yes, and all the bathrooms, and the greenhouse, too. We can’t find her anywhere.” Zoe’s voice was fast with urgency, upset in its tone, and it tingled in the pit of Cordelia’s stomach. She couldn’t have lost Misty again. Not so soon. “I--I don’t know where she might have gone. One minute she was tossing the salad, and the next, she just wasn’t there anymore.” 

Cordelia swallowed hard. “Let’s not overreact. It’s not like she could have gotten far.”  _ I’m truly going to be excellent at looking for Misty.  _ She struggled to push aside those dark thoughts where they churned inside of her. “Did anything happen that might have upset her? Anything at all?” She reviewed the events of the morning, but nothing stuck out to her. Misty was the same as normal. They had awoken in bed and gone down to breakfast, and Misty had piddled around in the back of the greenhouse while she taught her class, and she only intervened when Cordelia walked backward into a garden hoe and smashed herself in the back with the handle. 

She couldn’t imagine that Misty would decide to wander off. And if so, to where? “No. We weren’t even really talking,” Zoe said. “We were all trying to hear you talk to that asshole through the walls, but we couldn’t. Not for the lack of trying.” 

_ At least they’re honest. _ “Alright. Gather everyone up. We’ll ask around and see who saw her last, and where.” 

It took twenty minutes to collect all of the audience’s students into the living room. Almost everyone had gone home for the holidays, but a handful had remained, and to them, Zoe asked, “Everyone! We’re missing Misty. Has anyone seen her in the last, say, two hours? Three hours?”  _ Three hours?  _ Cordelia resisted the urge to hide her face and pushed away her sense of worry. They would find her. They had to find her. Misty wouldn’t just leave without leaving a note or something. 

A silence followed, and then a small voice of one of the younger girls piped up. “I saw her earlier,” she said. “Soon as the man got here. He ran over a squirrel in the driveway.”  _ Oh, shit.  _ Cordelia’s stomach did a flip. Had Misty gone out to try to save the squirrel and failed? Where would she have gone afterward, in her failure? “She walked out there, right up to it, and picked it up. It got guts all over her dress. It was super gross.” A couple of the other girls giggled. “And then she left.” 

“Did you see which direction she headed?” Queenie asked. 

“Oh, no, she didn’t walk. She left. Like you all do, sometimes, like on Star Trek, with the teleporters.” 

_ What?  _ Misty had used her magic? Successfully, no less? “You mean she transmuted?” she interrupted. The girl hummed an affirmative. “Did you see if she reappeared?” Zoe had taught them all a valuable lesson in transmutation, but Misty hadn’t been around to learn it. 

“I didn’t see. It wasn’t anywhere in the front yard, if she did.”

There was a realm of possibilities now. 

Cordelia found herself pacing in their room while everyone else scoured the grounds. She couldn’t help; she couldn’t do anything but walk into things and get in the way. “God  _ dammit! _ ” she cursed as she roamed back and forth across the hardwood floor of her room, shoveling her hands through her hair. She had dropped her cane on the bed. Whenever she encountered furniture, she shoved it out of her way with her magic. Moving things, shaking things, it made her feel strong when she was otherwise helpless.  _ I am helpless. I can’t protect Misty. I can’t protect this coven. I can’t protect anyone.  _

Hurling herself onto her bed, she threw her cane from the mattress and collected Misty’s shawl into her hands. How would they find Misty? She had sensed death--Cordelia knew that was one of her unique strengths, the power to smell death like some dogs smelled drugs and locate it--and she had gone toward it. And then what? Had she revived the squirrel? Since she used her magic to transmute, was her resurgence also working again? “Where are you, Misty?”

Burying her face into her shawl, Cordelia inhaled deeply. “God, Misty, you can’t leave me alone again. Please, don’t leave me alone again.” 

Silence answered her. She felt very small as she tucked herself into a tiny ball on the bed, wrapping up in the shawl and smelling the sweet scent of Misty’s hair, her shampoo, her soap. Why would Misty have left without telling her something? Anything? “Please, take me to her.” Cordelia’s own magic pulsed inside of her, drawn to Misty’s magical signature like two opposite poles of a magnet. “Take me to her.” The back of her teeth rattled in her jaw. She vibrated all over. “Take me to her.” 

Reaching into the abyss of transmutation, it sucked her in like a vacuum, and she landed on the other side on the cold, soggy earth, still curled up in her ball all wrapped up in the shawl. She stood unsteadily. Mud was caked to the cherished piece of fabric. She plucked it off. Her bare feet sank up to the ankles into the muck. Birds chirped sweet song overhead, and the shade blotted out the hot August sun from above her. The delicate scent of wildflowers surrounded her. 

Hands extended, Cordelia waded forward through the puddle until her dirt-caked feet landed on dry land. The foliage, soft and green, swept her up into its comforting embrace. Her hands landed on the bark of a tree. She flinched from the first brushing of bark against her fingertips, but then she guided herself around it, arranging her feet carefully around the roots.  _ What is this place?  _ “Misty!” She had come here for Misty. “Misty!” she bleated again, afraid to let go of the tree and wander deeper into her own darkness.

“Cordelia?” The sound of her own name from Misty’s lips almost made her yelp in surprise. She perked up, stifling the startled cry. Familiar hands landed on her waist. “What are you doing out here?” Cordelia flung her arms around Misty’s neck and clung to her. “Hey, there, duckweed.” Misty’s hands were coated with dry earth, but Cordelia didn’t mind as she touched her face and her hair. “Are you alright, cher?”

The question took her aback. She had spent months asking the same question and gaining no answer in return. She gulped. Suddenly, Misty had a lot to say, and she was at a loss for words. “I--Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Something furry scampered up her leg. With a shriek, Cordelia wrapped herself up Misty and clambered up her like some kind of great willowy tree. “What is  _ that? _ ” Misty wriggled away from her desperate clinging.  _ Blind people weren’t meant to be out in the swamp! I’m going to step on a snake! _

“Relax. This is my new friend.” The squirrel rested on Misty’s shoulder, and Misty took her hand and placed it on the squirrel’s fuzzy back. The rodent tittered under her touch. Hesitantly, Cordelia curled her fingers into the coarse, short fur. “I’m going to call her Flora,” Misty said. “She can come back with us, can’t she?” 

Cordelia licked her lips, trying to rid herself of the shakiness. Misty wouldn’t let her get hurt out here. “Yes, yes. Of course.” She hooked herself onto Misty’s arm. 

Misty led her out into the middle of the garden. The low-growing wildflowers tickled her ankles all the way up her calves and her knees. They sat together on a drier patch of earth than the mud puddle Cordelia had landed in. Cordelia scooted as close to Misty as she could, just in case any animals thought to poke their heads up at her. Misty placed an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” Misty touched her hair and smoothed it back out of her eyes so it didn’t stick to her forehead. “Thank you for waiting for me.” 

“You were worth every moment.” Misty kissed her cheek. Cordelia blushed. “Are you okay?” she asked slowly, tenderly. 

“I am now.” Misty’s fingers threaded with hers. “I love you, Cordelia.” For once, for the first time, she could  _ say  _ it. Cordelia didn’t need to  _ feel it _ \--though she did feel it in the way Misty touched her, in every inch of her skin that touched an inch of Misty’s--because she could hear Misty’s voice report the fact she knew all too well but still needed reassured on. 

“I love you, too.” She nuzzled into Misty’s thick hair. “We should go back. They’re going to be worried about us.”  _ I’m covered in muck. I’ve got to take a shower. _ She had never felt so gross. And she had never not cared so much before. Who noticed the mud caked to her body when she had Misty so near to her? Who noticed the filth when Misty could speak her name?

The squirrel curled up in Cordelia’s lap. She threaded her fingers through its coarse fur. “Can we stay out here a little longer?” Misty asked. She clung to Cordelia’s fingers, playing with them in her grip as she rested in the healing embrace of Mother Nature. “I like having you all to myself… No interference.” 

Cordelia smirked. “Then I’ll have to make some more of this time for you.” She trailed her fingers down the back of Misty’s spidery hands. She wanted to curl up in the sound of Misty’s low, crackling voice. Fumbling into her pocket, she found it empty--she had left Misty’s iPod on the nightstand where they had listened to it the night before. “Will you sing to me?” 

“Hm?” Misty stretched out her long legs before her and sprawled out in the grass, pulling Cordelia down into it with her. She folded one arm behind her head as a pillow. The other remained wrapped around Cordelia. “Lay down with me. It’s so nice out here. What is it?” 

Resting her head on Misty’s chest, Cordelia repeated her request. “Will you sing to me?” She trailed her index finger over Misty’s collarbones. “I didn’t hear your voice for so long… I almost forgot what it sounded like.” 

A throaty chuckle rose from Misty. “Of course, lilypad. Whatever you want.” She drew shapes on Cordelia’s back through her blouse. She began to sing, a quiet thing, with the crickets and the birds providing their own keening along with the melody. They remained out there, swatting mosquitoes and singing off-key, until the sun stretched low on the horizon and cast them in orange and pink, joining their long shadows as one far behind them. 


End file.
